


Starbucks still has shitty coffee

by comradecourt



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, deep soul searchy discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comradecourt/pseuds/comradecourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The coffee is crap, but the conversation is good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starbucks still has shitty coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Heal with Sam + Steve

"I hope we find him, Sam. DC is not the best place to be homeless wandering alone in the middle December." Steve clutched his eco-friendly Starbucks cup closer, he really didn't mind the cold, but the thought of Bucky freezing in an alleyway somewhere confused and miserable made a chill run down Steve's spine.

"Hey, he might have some of the same Super Soldier serum you have. At least he won't freeze as much?" Sam tried to look on the bright side of things, Steve was so lucky to have a friend like him, especially now when he needed the support the most. 

"Any news from Tasha?" Steve picked at his cranberry orange muffin, not really hungry. It didn't help that the coffee wasn't all that great either.

"Besides the dinner reservations I got with her at that Argentinean restaurant in Rockville? Naw."

Steve deadpanned.

"Relax, you can come too."

"Three's a crowd, Sam." Steve shifted in his seat.

"...Is that how it's gonna be with us when you get Bucky back?"

"No, Sam, that's not what I meant. I just, I don't want to ruin your good time with Natasha, you two deserve a break."

"And so do you, Steve." Sam grabbed hold of Steve's fidgeting hands, his blue eyes sad and tired. "You don't need to beat yourself up about this man. You can't constantly blame yourself for things you can't control. You couldn't save Bucky then, and you might not be able to save him now. That's up to him if he wants you to save him. Steve, you can't save someone who runs away from your help. Trust me, I know." Sam squeezed Steve's hands.

"Sam you just don't-"

"-Get it? Yeah, Steve I do. I've saved so many people overseas, but most of them didn't want to be helped. They wanted to die, Steve. The ceremonies they did overseas when someone would die on a mission; I still remember the boots, and the flag being hung over the camp in honor of them." Sam paused biting the inside of his cheek to hide his emotion.

"But there aren't any ceremonies when people come back from overseas and decide they can't handle "normal society". They just kill themselves, they don't want to burden their loved ones with their PTSD. It's rough, and I try not to think about it, because who wants to think of all the people they didn't save? It eats you up, man. I don't want it to eat you up, Steve." Sam swallowed thickly. "Bucky will be able to find you, he's not lost. He knows where his home is."

Steve nodded wordlessly. "I still want to look for him, in case he needs help finding his way back." He gave Sam a small smile, Steve knew it'd be awhile for all the reopened wounds to heal. He was lucky to have someone like Sam to help stitch close the emotional gashes.

Sam smiled back. "As long as you promise to take a break now and then. ...Which means you'll be joining me and Tasha for dinner."

"Deal."

They headed out of the Starbucks heading back to the Gallery Place metro station, the homeless people harassed most of the passerby's for money. A man hunched over layers of winter coats in the corner had a half crushed styrofoam cup off to the side. Before going down the escalators Steve emptied his spare change into the cup then caught up with Sam following behind him. 

They disappeared down the escalator, the man lifted his head, he itched his scruffy beard and adjusted his baseball cap, his long greasy hair underneath it. "Thanks, Steve." He muttered pulling the coats closer.


End file.
